I was something in the 60s but now I'm just sixty something.

Moving sucks. I’ve done it so many times it should be a breeze by now but it just gets harder. Things always go wrong. And the people you are paying thousands of dollars to do the job will treat you like crap. The one exception is the sales rep who will be totally charming while making promises no one will keep. The only real guarantee is you will be pissed.

The person I most wanted to hurt was the pushy SOB who hauled our cars. He missed his calling. He should have been an arrogant little dictator somewhere in the world instead of driving a truck. There was no way to win with him.

The “conversation” escalated something like this:

“Excuse me sir, but these cars were to have been delivered to our driveway next Friday. This is only Monday. I’m not even in town.

No, (jack ass) I am not going to meet you tonight. It’s already 9 o’clock and as I told you I’m not even in town and I don’t own the house yet. I can’t park the cars at someone else’s house. It’s called liability(asshole).

Look, it’s more than 40 miles from our hotel to that Home Depot and it’s too late. And since you won’t deliver them in the manner of our contract (as we were assured by the salesman) we have to drive a rental to meet your demands. That makes three cars to get out of Home Depot and two drivers. Do you understand simple math? 3 >2. Sure you can talk to my husband (you misogynist prick). But you’ll be sorry you asked. He’s breathing fire by now.

OK (you mother f*****). Just to get you off our ass we will get up at 4:30 in the morning to meet your demands and be there by 6 to finish your job for you. Then you can be on your way to abuse your next customer and eventually rot in hell.”

The following day I had a nice little conversation with the driver. This guy was at least smart enough to know he was better off trying to bullshit me than to deal with my fire-breathing dragon.

“But when you pulled out you told us the van would arrive this Wednesday. Not next Monday or Tuesday. Where the hell have you been? I know you wanted to run by your house in Texas but hey, that’s not what I’m paying you for. You told us WEDNESDAY ! My husband has to fly back to California for a business meeting on Sunday morning and you have all his suits on your f***ing truck! Not even in California is anyone going to take a man seriously in a business meeting wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Yes, it is very clear to me you don’t give a shit what the sales rep told us.”

As for the loading/unloading crews, my advice would be don’t even look. Not coming or going. Much too nerve wracking. All we could do was repair the walls and scrub the spots off the carpet when they left.

In the end, the move is only as good as the packers. Unfortunately, these workers are on the bottom of the pecking order and get paid the least. So why should they care about your stuff? Probably the nicer your stuff the more they hate you. They have the power to make or break your move. And your heart. They can bring you to tears. I can deal with a smashed toaster oven, bent 40 plus year old wedding pewter, and wadded up clothes that will need to be relaundered or dry cleaned. But they broke the head off my doll. The one my parents bought me for Christmas when I was six. My dad told me some years back that they had 26 dollars left in the bank on Christmas Eve and he went and bought the doll. It cost 25. My mother sewed her dress. I gently lifted her out of the box she had been jammed into and watched her head roll across the strange floor I was standing on. And that’s when I finally lost it. There is no way to avoid it. In every move forward in life something you love is left behind.